Bah, Humbug
by FatGnat
Summary: Paris at Christmas. Pre-series. Addison/Derek.


It was raining. A steady drizzle that painted the City of Lights a dull gray. From the overcast sky to the dirty cobblestones, it was all one dreary shade or another of gray.

The Avenue des Champs Elysées in downpour didn't look much different from Fifth Avenue and that was just three subway stops away from home, which made a bumpy plane ride across the Atlantic seem redundant. Of course, there had been the Mile High Club membership fee which Derek had enjoyed paying, but they could have sex in cramped quarters anytime. The janitorial closet on the fifth floor of the surgical wing was an excellent choice, if you didn't mind the smell of industrial strength detergent.

This oppressive dampness was not what Derek had had in mind by a romantic getaway when he'd plotted and planned to get time off to fly to Paris. Okay, so he may have bribed, threatened and bullied the other junior residents into covering their shifts, but this couldn't be karma come to bite him in the ass. It was their third year of residency and the first time they weren't stuck at the hospital on the duty shift from hell during the holiday season. He'd extracted swallowed Christmas ornaments and once, even a turkey baster from a guy's rectum. Derek had paid his dues.

Where was his white Christmas?

Something else he hadn't realized, until stepping foot on French soil, was that his wife spoke the language fluently, temperamental hand gestures included. Her argument with their cab driver from the airport had been a sight to behold. He'd had no idea what the dispute was about, only that the language rose and fell much like musical theater. It was like watching _Les Misérables_ or, considering neither did an adequate rendition of Jazz Hands, maybe _La Traviata_. Yes, an opera was more in line with Addison.

Derek had feared she'd poke the man in the eye and they'd have to spend the first day of their first vacation together in a hospital ER. Possibly, also the first night spooning on a hard cot in a French jail on trumped up charges of eyeball skewage. The penal system wasn't known for its hospitality -- this was the homeland of the guillotine and they'd lose their places in the residency program for being convicted felons.

As it turned out, Addison had lived in Paris for a year as a junior in the study abroad program at Yale and Derek wondered why this was the first he'd ever heard of it. Granted, they hadn't met until a couple of years later, after he'd graduated Magna Cum Laude ahead of Mark's Cum Laude from Columbia. Neither of their lives had begun the day he first laid eyes on Addison and told her he was a man she'd want to know.

However, this minor detail of his wife's past put his Grand Romantic Gesture to shame and it bothered him. A week in the city of lovers seemed shabby when he started contemplating that some other guy had been the first to take her to see the view from the Eiffel Tower. Guys with fruity names, such as Étienne and Jean-Marie, had held her hand for walks along the Seine and kissed her underneath its bridges. Ridiculous as he knew it was -- she had married him -- the jealousy stewed like bad heartburn that this wasn't a first they'd get to share.

To top it all off, Derek had already stepped in dog shit twice while Addison's shoes remained in pristine condition. Naturally.

"So what's the deal with this 'Bertie's'?"

Eating ice cream at Christmas time was weird. Standing in line to get into what Addison referred to as the 'glacier' (it was clearly a glorified ice cream parlor) was even weirder. But, his wife had wanted Bertie's ice cream now that she was back in Paris, so off they went, huddling together underneath an umbrella. Of course, Derek knew the name of the place wasn't "Bertie's," but he insisted on saying it just like that, rolling his R's thickly, to tick Addison off. She was damn cute when she got all worked up and started lecturing him on not behaving like a cultural hick.

"Berthillon is famous for their all natural ice cream. You should try the chestnut."

"Chestnut... ice cream. That sounds... yummy?"

What was wrong with roasted chestnuts? Back in New York, Derek could have those at any street corner. They'd taste Christmasy. If he'd wanted a summer treat in the middle of winter, he'd choose some flavor that was less offensive to his poor taste bud. Like Rocky Road or plain strawberry. What was wrong with normal, ice creamy flavors? He'd rather eat the generic store brand of chunky cookie dough, Oreo crunch, caramel swirl straight out of the carton than a hoity-toity French concoction.

"Do they have escargot ice cream? I might have a scoop of that too. Or frog. Nobody goes to France without a taste of Kermit. I wonder if frog ice cream is a Christmas green color, or more of a minty pastel green. What do you think?"

Addison turned around in his arms, careful to keep the umbrella steady and the drizzle off their bodies. Standing forehead to forehead, Derek finally felt some Christmas peace settle over him and he rubbed his nose against hers in a lazy Eskimo kiss. So what if his wife wanted chestnut ice cream? She felt very good in his arms. Her breath was Colgate fresh on his face and they were in Paris, the capital of love. Even if his shoes still smelled of doggie turd.

"You're being a naughty boy, Derek." Addison nipped at his bottom lip. "Santa may give you nothing but lumps of coal this year because of that smartass mouth." She bit down hard enough for it to sting. "And, I might smack you with my very stylish handbag, if you don't stop saying 'Bertie.'"

Despite his best efforts not to, Derek smiled. The handbag looked like it might hurt, a lot even, with all those metal details and the junk she'd surely stuffed into it. But, she was so feisty and he felt alive in her company. Like he'd been dependent on an inhaler all his life and suddenly, he didn't need it anymore. Every breath was deep and full... She gave a good buzz, like a high quality doobie.

Reaching down in between them, he quickly flicked the button open and unzipped her pants. His deft surgeon's hands were going to be worth millions some day soon and the fastenings of his wife's designer wear were always fun practice as the inevitable outcome was a naked woman in his arms. A win-win situation for Doctor Shepherd.

"What are you doing?" Addison's raised eyebrow said, 'What the fuck?' in a way that no words ever could.

"I am sticking my hand down your pants, of course." The umbrella tipped in her hand and Derek could feel a trickle of water running down his neck, in under his collar. "Please, hold that thing steady. We don't want to get wet in all the wrong places."

"Your fingers are cold."

She tried to pull her lower body away from him, but both the arm around her waist and Derek's hand creeping down underneath the lining of her panties aborted the movement.

His fingers slid down the curve of her body, insisting Addison make room for him to cup her. He stroked her in a gentle caress, but found that she was already as damp as the Paris weather. The snugness of her pants was restrictive and Derek knew the heavy seam of the crotch would rub his knuckles raw, but none of that mattered when Addison's pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed as a strangled little sound caught in her throat. She was so beautiful.

"Derek..."

Her chameleon eyes, just inches away from his face, shifted from the blue-grayish tones they seemed to have adopted in an effort to match the dull gray of their surroundings, to a deeper greenish blue as his wife stared back into his eyes. Derek wondered if she could see how he adored her reflected there, the way he could tell from her eyes that Addison loved him. He could feel her hand, the one not trying to keep the umbrella upright above them, holding onto the back of his neck.

"Relax, no one can see anything. Your functional and might I add, very expensive, coat hides everything from any peeping toms."

Even if the intimacy of their positions could be seen, Derek doubted that the Parisians cared enough to dwell on it. Public displays of affection didn't seem to be frowned upon, as he had seen at least three couples in various stages of making out, when they were walking through the Luxembourg Gardens just yesterday. It had been freezing cold too. Maybe they'd been trying to keep warm by sharing body heat? Derek had felt very conservative, strolling along with his arm around his wife in a respectable fashion.

Well, at least until he stepped in feces. He'd skipped about, trying to scrape it off with a stick and Addison, her nose red from the cold, had snickered at his misfortune while offering him a few dry leaves to wipe off his soles.

"This is insane."

"We're just passing time while we're waiting. Plus," Derek grinned, "I've been told I'm pretty good at this."

Addison hiccuped on her involuntary giggle and he took that opportunity to press two fingers inside of her. It felt incredible, even to Derek and he wondered if there was a darkened corner somewhere nearby where he could possibly have his way with her unnoticed. Even if the French had no problem with kissing and moderate caresses, Derek was fairly certain that dropping his pants on a public street would land them both naked-assed in separate jail cells.

"Orgasms in Paris... What else could a girl conceivably want for Christmas?" Addison's smile was sunny and mischievous and he loved her.

"My point exactly."

Derek finally succumbed to the lure of kissing his wife as he tried to get his fingers into the right angle to massage her g-spot. He knew he got the pressure just right when Addison's fingertips dug into his neck and she panted sharply into his mouth. The kiss got wetter, deeper, as their tongues slid against each other in a way Derek was beginning to wish rather desperately that their bodies could do. Her arousal was an unbelievable turn-on.

"I love you," Addison whispered through kiss-swollen lips, her eyes impressing the gravity of the words.

"You..." Derek took a deep breath and felt himself free-fall deeper in love with this woman, "are the love of my life."

He almost choked on the words, but they were true, despite however corny they sounded. Women expected you to utter a certain amount of sappy nonsense; it made them feel special, but Derek had no experience in actually meaning any of the sweet nothings. He loved Addison in a way that both petrified him and made him want to head for the hills at a fast clip. They'd been married for three chaotic and hectic years, but they were happy. Well-matched. If there was such a thing as soulmates, Addison was his. He was sure.

His confession was all it took to catapult Addison into her orgasm. The umbrella tipped fully over and they were both soaked in the seconds that her muscles strained against his fingers and the pleasure roamed across her face. She looked exquisite and Derek's heart thudded painfully at the sight. Keeping up the movement, he allow his wife to slowly come down before he removed his hand. His fingers glistened with her fluids and before the rain could wash it all away, Derek put them into his mouth to taste.

Addison finally raised the umbrella and watched in silence as he methodically licked his fingers clean. Derek liked this part -- there was something very sumptuous about tasting a woman.

"Yummy." He smiled impishly. "Much better than chestnut ice cream."


End file.
